Charles Todd - A Fearsome Doubt

“Do you think she loved anyone else after Major Crawford died?”

“You’ll have to ask her that,” he said gently. “I never have.”

Rutledge went back to the house with the stone gateposts while he was waiting for Elizabeth to pack her cases.

The German was sitting up, his face washed out by pain but his eyes alert. The fever seemed to have abated.

“How is she?” The question seemed drawn out of him by something in Rutledge’s face.

“Upset. I’m taking her to a friend’s house for a few days.”

Hauser nodded. “That’s best. So. It’s safe now to bring me to the police.”

“Have you driven the motorcar in the carriage house?”

“I’ve been afraid to. Someone might recognize it. I walk wherever I need to go. Or hire a carriage. I’m considered quite respectable in Marling, you know. I’ve told them that my ancestors came over with William of Orange-your king William the Third. London was overrun with Dutchmen then. They owned land here, some of it very valuable.” He smiled wryly. “I wish it were true, but my ancestors lived in Friesia, with its heath and sand and the North Sea wind. We didn’t meddle in politics. Except for the Friedrichtasse, we’ve never consorted with kings.”

Rutledge looked at the bread and sausage on the table. “You’ll need more to eat. I’ll see to it. Meanwhile, what about the doctor? I warn you, it’s the first step toward a prison cell. I can’t prevent that. But God forgive me if I let you die. Elizabeth Mayhew won’t.”

A flash of sadness swept over the handsome face. “She isn’t in love with me. Not yet. But she could have been. In a very different world from this. No, I’m going to be all right, if the fever doesn’t come back again. I’d like more water, if you don’t mind. I can’t work the pump yet.”

Rutledge brought him a pitcher of water. “More whisky?”

“No, it’s making my head thunder.” Hauser paused. “Look. Why should I have killed those men? It’s Ridger I’m searching for. Do I give the impression I’m someone who would be overcome by a murderous fit of temper? Laudanum isn’t hot-blooded enough for that!”

“Ridger is dead,” Rutledge told him. “Buried in Maidstone, where he was born. I doubt you’ll find your cup. His sort would have sold it long ago.”

Hauser sighed. “I’d thought about that.” His face wreathed in a self-deprecating smile, he added, “On the other hand, I might have got those men drunk in the hope they’d tell me what they knew about Ridger-and then misjudged how much would kill them.”

“I don’t know why you killed them,” Rutledge replied. “Yet. Revenge, perhaps? All three served with Ridger. That cup is a very good story-but I have only your word that it exists. And so far, your lies have been plentiful and extremely persuasive. But they’re beginning to catch up with you.”

And with that, he was gone.

Melinda Crawford was delighted to see them.

And there was another guest at the tea table-Bella Masters-who was decidedly not.

She greeted Rutledge with a flush that rushed up under her fair skin like a burn and said with embarrassment, “I was just leaving. But this offers me another opportunity to say-”

“Mrs. Masters.” He interrupted her with a smile. “I hope you’ll stay and enjoy Elizabeth’s company. There’s work waiting for me in Marling, I’m afraid, and I’ve only driven her over as promised.”

He turned to Elizabeth, standing beside him with a worried expression on her face, as if wishing Bella Masters at the devil. “I’ll come for you, whenever you say the word.”

“You’ll-you’ll keep me informed?” she begged.

“I will.”

Melinda Crawford, no fool, had caught Elizabeth’s expression, and looked at Rutledge quizzically. “Now tell me you won’t have a cup of tea, Ian! One cup! And then I’ll walk you to the door myself. Elizabeth, dear, do sit down. You look as if you’re feeling a little sick from the motorcar.”

Elizabeth crossed to the hearth and held out unsteady hands to the blaze. “I’m cold, that’s all. Bella, it’s wonderful to see you.” Gathering her wits and her social graces about her like a cloak, she smiled. “Raleigh’s better, I hope. He was abominable the other night. I’ve only just decided to forgive him!”

Bella seemed to relax a little, her eyes still on Rutledge. “He has his good days,” she agreed. “The truth is, he’s not content with an invalid’s role, and it grates more than we probably know. I ache, sometimes, watching him try to manage. A far cry from the world of the courts-” Trying to hold back tears, she picked up her spoon and vigorously stirred her tea.

Mrs. Crawford had poured tea for Elizabeth, and now handed Rutledge his cup. It was hot and strong and sweet, without milk.

“She’d have added a discreet drop of something stronger, if she could,” Hamish said, beginning to get Mrs. Crawford’s measure. “My granny would ha’ done that.”

Elizabeth was saying something about time lying heavy on her hands as well, and turned to Mrs. Crawford. “I’ve come to stay a few days, if you’ll have me-”

“My dear, I’d like nothing more! Ian must have told you how much I’ve complained lately about no one to talk to. I’d go up to London, if the weather weren’t so cold. I feel it now, more than I did. Used as I was to a hot climate.”

Rutledge drank his tea, standing by the small inlaid Chinese desk that sat out of reach of the sunlight pouring through the window.

Bella, regaining her composure, said, “Raleigh prefers a good fire these days. I can remember when he insisted that the windows be opened wide each morning. It was outrageous, but he couldn’t bear to be too warm. I’d slip around behind him, closing them as soon as he left a room.”

They laughed. Melinda Crawford’s eyes met his, and he dutifully commented, “I’ve never quite understood how men fought in wool in India.”

“They dropped dead of heatstroke,” she said. “Silly fools.”

He drank his tea and set down the cup. “I really must go. Elizabeth’s cases are in the boot-”

“Then I’ll come and see that they’re carried up to her room,” Mrs. Crawford replied.

Rutledge took his leave of Mrs. Masters and kissed the cheek that Elizabeth tentatively offered him. Then he followed his hostess into the echoing hall. She caught his arm and pulled him into the music room.

“Now tell me what this is about,” she hissed. “Elizabeth looks as if she’s been crying-”

“Let her explain in her own fashion. She will, after Mrs. Masters has gone. But I found out about the silk shawl. And I’m not sure I can keep Elizabeth’s name out of what’s about to happen. I brought her here, and you must find a way to hold her.”

“I’ll do what I can. Even if I must take to my bed for a day or two. You look as if you haven’t slept at all. Nobody’s dead, I hope.”

“No.” He thought, watching her expressive face, that he would like nothing more than to stay here himself, and put everything else out of his mind.

Her hand reached up to touch his cheek. It was cool and smooth, like silk. “Ian. Strength is a wonderful thing, you know. But sometimes a man can have too much of it. You can’t save the world from itself. If people are intent on destroying themselves, they will. And sometimes they don’t care if they bring others down with them. That’s selfish but it’s human nature.”

“I’ll remember.” He turned toward the door, and then stopped. “I need cloths, clean but old and lint-free. And some laudanum, if you have it. And whisky. And your promise to say nothing about any of this.”

She asked no questions. “Go see to Elizabeth’s luggage. Take your time over it. I’ll have everything ready.”